Draco Malfoy and the Scarf of Sexual Preference
by ChannelTheFlannel
Summary: Draco has some internalized homophobia to deal with. So, naturally, we enlist the help of everyone's favorite technicolored scarf! (Prequel to Harry Potter and the Scarf of Sexual Preference, Pre HPDM)


Draco didn't bother looking up. He had come to accept that anything coming from Daphne Greengrass' mouth wasn't really worth listening to. He would much rather busy himself with his very intense, very serious Arithmetic homework.

But really, who was he kidding? He wasn't doing homework. He was busy sketching what it would look like if Dark Marks were put on armpits instead of forearms (because wouldn't _that_ make his life easier), but Greengrass didn't need to know that.

"Malfoy!" she sang insistently.

He ignored her with a sigh and curled himself closer to the window. He was comfortably tucked on the cushioned seat against the bay window that overlooked the charming, cheerful bottom of the Black Lake. That way, with the cold to his back, only the Giant Squid and the occasional mermaid could tell that he was sketching male torsos.

Entirely for concept, of course. Not because he enjoyed it or anything. The main focus was the Dark Mark that he had yet to add in. It would all make sense once that was put in.

 _Perhaps I should get on that,_ he thought. _It would be much easier to explain away._

"Gods, Malfoy," Daphne sighed, and she was walking over with a piece of parchment in her hand. "You really do need to see this."

"What is it?" Draco demanded, slamming his notebook shut and practically shoving it under his bum. If he was sitting on it, there was absolutely no way that Daphne would be able to access his drawings.

She raised her eyebrows, but ignored his abnormal behavior (because it really wasn't that abnormal).

"I just got this letter from my parents," she said in way of explanation, and waved it about in his face. "It's about you."

"What?" he demanded, and tried to snatch it from her.

She held it just out of arms' reach and tutted at him. "Not for your eyes, Malfoy," she whispered, her lips rising into a hint of a smirk. "Or for my sister's, apparently. If you know what I mean."

"You have a sister?" Draco asked, trying to feign a casual attitude. He did, however, think he knew what he meant. It was that stage in his life, that time of year, that a certain thing was being _discussed_ amongst pureblood families.

"Yes, a quite eligible one," Daphne purred. "Younger than me, and more innocent, too. I assume my parents tried to throw me into the offer first, but I'm probably not what your parents had in mind." Her eyes flashed wickedly, and Draco wasn't at all surprised. Daphne wasn't known for her purity or fidelity.

Draco sighed, a little disappointed in his parents. With all that was going on (with the post-war trials and whatnot), the last thing he'd hoped they would do was arrange his marriage. There were more important things to be concerned about, and the last thing _he_ was concerned about was carrying on the Malfoy legacy.

Let alone with a Greengrass girl. And one that he didn't even seem to remember, at that.

"Why are you telling me this?" he demanded. If there were marriage discussions going on, it was against tradition for either him or this sister of Daphne's to know about. They were to be kept in the dark until the official announcement (though he wasn't sure what good that was supposed to do).

"Well, as Astoria's wiser and older sister, my parents are asking my opinion of the arrangement before it's made official," Daphne explained, flicking the paper through the air again. "And I just don't think my judgment is... well, _complete._ I have a suspicion that you aren't the right fit for my darling little sister."

"And why not?" Draco snapped, growing impatient. Talking with Daphne was usually a great waste of time, considering she spent most of her words teasing without actually getting to the point.

"Well, it's just..." She sighed, looking defeated for a second. "Listen, Draco. I like to consider myself a very forward-thinking young woman, and believe me when I say that I don't have a problem with it... But it won't work. And I can't say anything to my parents about it unless _you_ do something."

"Do _what,_ Daphne?" he growled, completely at a loss. "What are you going on about? Is this about Pansy and I? Because she ended _that_ horrible affair ages ago." He had only dated her for a year or so, and they had never really _done_ anything (much to Pansy's chagrin). There never really was much of a spark there. They were better off as friends.

But if Daphne still thought that was on, then of course she would be concerned with how that would interfere with her sister's possible arrangement with him.

Daphne blinked, and then frowned, before lighting up with that devilish grin. "Oh, Draco," she began, "you don't mean to tell me that you _haven't_ figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out?" He was truly, very confused now.

"Draco, I _know_ you and Pans didn't work out. And that's why you and Astoria won't work out, either."

"What, are they terribly alike or something?" He shuddered at the thought. Two Pansy's would be a curse to wizardkind indeed. One was good enough.

Astoria rolled her eyes at him, and then looked at him like he was a daft idiot.

"No, Malfoy. It's because my signature is more straight than you are, and my signature happens to be _very_ curly."

It was. He remembered in third year when she had somehow made all the _a's_ in her name look like flowers. It was dreadful, but completely besides the point.

"What has handwriting got to do with anything?"

Now, Daphne gaped. "Draco. Please. Don't tell me you're so thick-headed you didn't even understand _that."_

"I did not."

She stared at him a moment longer, and then shook her head in disbelief.

"If I am going to have to save my sister from this marriage, then I will have to do some serious intervention," she muttered, most likely to herself. "And until you figure anything out, I'm at a stalemate. Gods, this is dreadful."

"Perhaps if you could just tell me what the matter is, we could figure this out," he retorted, feeling slightly offended. What made her think he would be such a train wreck?

"No, no," she murmured, turning her head to the side. "That's not right. I can't just _tell_ you..." She turned away completely and wandered away. She was acting absolutely insane.

"Let me know how I can help!" he called after her sarcastically.

Honestly, what did she think she knew about him that he didn't?


End file.
